


Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil

by DroughtofApathy



Series: A Thousand Lifetimes [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Brief Violence, Curse Breaking, Disability Curse, Disabled Character of Color, F/F, Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Overstimulation, Thankfully Unsucessful, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 04:42:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17615708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DroughtofApathy/pseuds/DroughtofApathy
Summary: For her insolence, he stole her sight. For her resistance, he stole her hearing. And for fun, he stole her voice. Years later, just when the Lady Phaedra had come to terms with her new life as a deafblind mute, he came back with a proposition she could not refuse. If she found someone to love her in her pitiful state for a year, she could be whole again. But the Lady Phaedra had never considered herself broken to begin with. And love had never come easily to the reclusive sorceress.





	Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil

The Lady Phaedra was not a kind woman. Nor, however, was she openly cruel. But what she was was reclusive. The Lady Phaedra did not take kindly to trespassers on her lands. She lived on the outskirts of the town, just inside the boundaries of the forest. The townspeople knew better than to venture east of the river. That was her land, and they’d have been fools to cross the unspoken boundary line.

Phaedra was a small woman, and young too. That was not why the townspeople feared and respected her. It was because Phaedra had powers they knew little about. She was a witch, they whispered. She practiced dark magic, and sinister spells. But a few knew otherwise. She _did_ do as they said, but she also brewed potions, selling them covertly. A dreamless sleep potion for the soldier returning from war. A fertility potion to a couple in need. Few knew of her business, and those who did never spoke a word in polite company.

Her potions were what brought her out to the forest that night. Certain ingredients needed to be gathered by the light of the moon, or the concoction would sour and curdle horribly. Softly humming to herself and gathering the plants in a basket, the witch could have almost looked innocent in the moonlight.

Behind her, a twig snapped. Instantly, Phaedra conjured a small ball of fire in her right hand, tensing. It could have just as easily been a small animal scurrying home for the night, but she knew better. And out of the shadows, a man appeared. He was an imposing figure in the darkness, and Phaedra instinctively prepared to run. The man leered at her.

Curling her lip in disgust, Phaedra rose slowly from her crouched position among the plants. But without warning, he lunged at her, dodging her fireball with ease. Pinning her to the ground, she could feel his breath at her neck, and his manhood at her thigh. Growling, she kicked him off, magic enhancing her strength. Then, with another well-aimed fireball, the crotch of his pants caught fire. He screamed, finally able to beat out the flames.

In his distraction, Phaedra snatched up her basket and ran. But she had barely made it across the clearing when vines sprung out of the ground, tripping her. No longer in any position to rape the witch, the man laid an enraged curse on her. For her insolence, he stole her sight. For her resistance, he stole her hearing. And for fun, he stole her voice. Phaedra struggled, cutting through the vines with her magic, but they were resilient, and just kept appearing, holding her down tightly.

Then, an explosion rocked the night. Phaedra’s scream cut through the silent forest, sending the animals running. It was the last sound she made for days.

It was midday before the witch finally regained consciousness. Opening her eyes, she shrieked when all she saw was blackness. Or rather, she meant to. But no sound came out. Or if it did, she could not hear it. She could not hear anything. Frantically, she tried to speak, but as she touched her throat, no vibrations came. Beneath her, the forest floor crunched but she heard none of it. The Lady Phaedra was terrified.

She was alone in the forest, with no way of knowing where she was exactly, and no way of knowing how to return home. She was helpless, and hated every moment of it. Her spells were worthless. Unable to utter the words, she knew few wordless spells could help in this moment. Shakily, she stood, flailing as a wave of dizziness washed over her. At last, though, she was able to tentatively take a few steps. But the forest was not smooth. Rocks and roots littered the ground, and she had refused to clear any footpath years ago for fear of disrupting the fragile ecosystem.

Hesitantly, she turned her face upward, searching for the sun. There, to her left she could feel its warmth. That must have been east, then. And home was that way. Slowly, gingerly, she stumbled over the uneven terrain, gripping the trees to stay upright. Though barely a half hour’s walk, it took her nearly four hours to finally return home.

With relief, she nearly crashed into the iron gate surrounding her large estate. Pulling herself along the iron rungs, she spilled out of the gate and into her front lawn. And following the stone path up to her door, she collapsed on the rug just inside. Though she could not see or hear, she knew it was home just by the pleasant smell.

Still feeling petrified, Phaedra slowly pulled herself up, crawling to the basement door. In her own home, she knew where everything was. There was no danger of tripping over any wayward roots here. Still, even her own home felt foreign without her senses.

Gingerly, she made her way down into the basement. Out of habit, she flicked her hand, lighting the torches on the walls. It was a useless action, she knew. But the warmth of the fires brought her some comfort. As carefully as she could manage, Phaedra did her best to recall the potion that could return her senses.

There was one, she remembered, that would help. But it would take time. More time, perhaps, than she had. But surely the now deafblind woman could keep herself alive for one month. So, thankful that she was such a neurotically organized woman, Phaedra began to brew her potion. Each of her rare and not-so-rare ingredients had a canister, or case, or enchanted ice box. They were arranged alphabetically, and Phaedra carefully counted and recounted down the line until she found what she needed. This was her only chance. Starting over too daunting a prospect, Phaedra carefully measured, and cut.

And when the potion needed to be left to simmer, she carefully climbed the steep stairs to find something to keep herself alive. Once, she had loved cooking. Loved the smells, and sound of softly popping concoctions in her skillet. Now, she could only manage the most basic of meals. Soups were easy. Soups only required a bit of chopping, and a bit of meat. Phaedra soon found that killing one of the chickens from out back was much harder when one could not see or hear them.

But with a few wordless summoning charms, she was able to wring the neck of one easily enough, and she soon had a large vat of soup to last her at least the month if she enchanted it to stay fresh. So, levitating the large pot, she and the soup slowly descended back into the basement, nursing burns and blisters from her kitchen adventures.

Wincing, she carefully dabbed healing save to her wounds, knowing it would not be the last time. Then, she added the lacewing flies, stirring counterclockwise five times. There was still a long way to go.

Phaedra slept on a small cot in the corner of her potion brewing den. Spells kept away the dampness and chill of the underground. She did not emerge that entire time, setting up the necessary stations where she could take care of – ahem – business.

Finally, a soft vibration at her wrist alerted her that a full thirty days has passed. Unable to discern the coloring of the potion, she had no way of knowing if she had done it correctly. But she had nothing to lose, and with that in mind, she poured a bit into a ladle and took a long swig.

Grimacing, Phaedra dropped the ladle to the table, trying not to gag. Shaking, she collapsed onto her small cot as her head pounded in protest. Unable to stand it, she passed out, tears pouring down her face.

Moments later, she came to, wincing in the harsh light…wait. Light. Gasping, she shot up, ignoring the dizziness. Immediately, she grabbed for the potion book, knowing there was some sort of stipulation she was forgetting. And when she read the fine print, her heart sank. Because this was not a permanent solution if said deafblindness was caused by a curse. She had three days. Three days of her senses, and then…

Wanting nothing more than to sob, she nevertheless forced herself up. She needed to get dressed and head into town to place an ad in the daily newspaper. Knowing she could not possibly stay alive, and in spite of her pride, she knew she needed a caretaker.

Two days later, just when Phaedra was beginning to lose any hope of anyone ever coming, there was a knock at the door. Straightening her dress, she hurried to the door. The woman on the other side, regarded her curiously. She wasn’t expecting an able woman, and certainly not one like Phaedra.

“I’m sorry, am I at the Lady Phaedra’s house? My name is Annette.” Phaedra nodded, leading the woman into her sitting room. Slowly, she explained what had happened to her. Cursed, she would lose her vision, voice, and hearing by sunrise. She wouldn’t able to live independently anymore, much to her own aggravation, and would need someone to make sure she didn’t die. But just because Phaedra would soon be blind and deaf, it did not mean she was dead.

“I will not be an easy employer,” Phaedra warned. “Before now, I had happily lived alone and away from civilization. I can only imagine how horrible I will be when I am forced to rely on another human being. But I can pay well, and offer you housing and food. All I ask is that you keep me alive.”

Annette bit her lip, in consideration. She was not from the area, and needed somewhere for her and her wife to live. She had dark, shoulder length hair, and tanned skin just a shade lighter than Phaedra. Phaedra looked younger than her, but it was hard to tell. She had one of those faces that could have been anywhere between twenty and fifty.

Eventually, the two women managed to negotiate a deal that suited them both. And Annette couldn’t help but believe she was getting the better end. After all, she and her wife Genevieve were getting a roof over their heads, and plenty to eat. And they weren’t the ones who would soon be in darkness and silence.

Finally, shaking hands, Annette stood to leave. She would start her new job tomorrow. Just before she left, Phaedra held out a hand.

“This may seem like a strange request,” she said. “But tomorrow I will be vulnerable to many things. I would like to make sure that when you enter my home tomorrow, I will know it is you.” Annette nodded, lowering her head and allowing Phaedra to run her fingers along her face and hair. The witch had closed her eyes, carefully committing the feeling of Annette’s soft, slightly curled thick hair, and smooth face to memory. Feeling only slightly creepy, she inhaled the woman’s scent. 

Satisfied, she stepped back. Annette would return tomorrow morning with Genevieve in tow. Taking Phaedra’s hand and turning her palm up, she spelled out her goodbye with her finger. Phaedra sighed, watching the woman go. Then, slowly, she went upstairs to prepare a room for her new housemates.

Disparagingly, she laid out her dress for the next day, and retreated back to her library, hoping to master as many wordless spells as she could before she lost her voice entirely. She stayed up through the night, not wanting to waste a single moment in her old life. Writing out a list of things for Annette to keep in mind, she quickly ran through several sheets of paper, and an entire pencil.

As dawn approached, she paced the floor anxiously. Knowing what was in store for her left her even more uneasy. Soon, she would be leaving her wellbeing in the hands of a stranger, and opening herself up to more vulnerability than she had ever wanted. It was strange, she thought humorously. She had wanted to live a live alone, and away from social interaction, but soon she would truly get her wish, and she didn’t want anything to do with it. If only she had been faster, or aimed her fireball at his head.

Bitterly, she threw her glass across the room. It didn’t make her feel any better. Wordlessly, she cleaned up the glass, and retreated back to the foyer. And when the sun finally did rise, she once again passed out from the pain.

Knowing Phaedra would not be able to hear her knock, Annette had been given the key. As she and Genevieve rode out to the remote house, Genevieve expressed her concerns. She didn’t have any qualms about Annette helping the witch. It was about the man who had cursed her. Would he be seeking further vengeance? What if he came after them? But Annette shook her head. She had felt a kinship to the cursed woman already. And what more could the man possibly do to her that he hadn’t already?

They arrived just after the sun rose and Phaedra regained consciousness. Cautiously, Annette entered the house with Genevieve trailing behind. Genevieve was about Annette’s height, with dark skin and entirely unlike her prim and proper wife in nature. She had found a job working in the town’s dress shop.

The woman she presumed must have been the Lady Phaedra was seated in an armchair, anxiously rubbing at her wrists. Annette, not wanting to startle the woman by simply coming up to her, firmly stomped on the ground. Phaedra, feeling the vibrations, turned her head around. Her eyes were dull, yet they darted about rapidly.

As gently as she could, Annette approached the woman, taking her hand. Phaedra flinched, pulling back, but taking a deep breath, reached out. She traced the contours of Annette’s face, and felt the silkiness of her hair. Only then did she relax slightly, allowing Annette to take her hand.

“I want you to meet my wife,” Annette traced out on her palm. It was a long process, but would have to do. Beckoning Genevieve closer, she indicated for her to kneel. Tracing out her request for permission to touch, Phaedra waited patiently. Genevieve nodded, tracing out her consent on the woman’s palm as Annette had done.

Delicately, Phaedra ran her fingertips along Genevieve’s face, feeling the sharpness of her eyebrows, and noting the small birthmark at her lip. Her hair was a mass of coarse and bouncy curls. Genevieve sat, unfazed by the contact. She was a very tactile person, and enjoyed the attentions. Then, Phaedra drew back, nodding to herself.

It struck them all that Phaedra would never know how Genevieve looked, nor how she sounded. Gently, Genevieve patted the back of Phaedra’s hand. Feeling the pity in her touch, Phaedra stiffened. Then, she stood, preparing to show her new housemates to their room. Reaching out, Annette tried to take her arm, but Phaedra shook her off, stiffening once more. Well, Phaedra had warned her it would not be an easy job.

Cautiously ascending the steps, she led the two women to the first room on the second story. Motioning to the room, she traced out on Annette’s palm that it was now theirs to do as they pleased. Then, she continued, letting both women know that they were free to roam wherever they chose in the house, but not to go into the basement. There were dangerous items down there. Both women tapped out their understanding. Then, Phaedra led them to the end of the hall. This, she traced, was her room. She would appreciate it if they didn’t enter if the door was closed.

Soon, Annette learned just how taxing being the caretaker of an independent witch really was. Though Phaedra had hired Annette to take care of her, she brushed off most of Annette’s attempts. Seeing how Phaedra struggled to dress each morning, Annette had tried to help her. Of course, all she got for that was Phaedra angrily shaking her off, pointing to the door that had been previously been closed. Huffing, Annette left, throwing her hands up in frustration.

Nor would Phaedra let her call in anyone to take care of various repairs around the house. Genevieve had come home to the two women having a silent, but passionate argument, harshly jabbing at each other’s palms. Sighing, she went into the kitchen to check on dinner, knowing that neither witch nor wife would let up anytime soon. She poured herself a glass of whiskey, and sat down to watch the show. Though she had no idea what they were arguing about, she could guess. The garden out back had completely grown out of control, and Annette had mentioned bringing in a gardener.

Those plants, Phaedra traced, were magical, and would be contaminated by the town idiots. She refused to let them desecrate it. Besides, some of those plants were rare and expensive. They could easily steal them to profit.

Finally, frustrated and at the end of her rope, Annette gave in. Yanking her hand back, she stormed off to the kitchen. Phaedra crossed her arms, moving to the couch. Quickly, Genevieve jumped up, resettling on the settee. Gently, she took Phaedra’s hand, quickly trailing two fingers around her wrist. It was, they had decided before, her signature.

Phaedra paused, waiting for what Genevieve had to say. She understood, she traced, but Phaedra had hired Annette for a reason. Perhaps not the garden, but maybe Phaedra could be less stubborn about _something_. Phaedra slumped, knowing Genevieve was right.

In the past few months, Phaedra had been struggling to continue on with her daily routine by herself. She’d caused more small fires, and burned herself more than any of them cared to think about. More than once, she’d almost flooded the house just trying to bathe. Swallowing her pride, Phaedra slowly made her way into the kitchen. While she couldn’t hear or see, she knew Annette was slamming cupboards.

Unsure where the other woman was, Phaedra held out her hand, waiting patiently. She’d gotten far more tolerant and patient over the months. Finally, she felt three fingers tap on her forearm. Annette’s signature.

“I’m sorry,” she traced out. And she found it was easier to trace than to say. And as soon as that was said, all the anger went out of Annette in an instant. Hesitantly, Phaedra said she wanted to start accepting more help. And that was all Annette ever really wanted.

After that, though Phaedra wouldn’t allow anyone else to enter the house, she did open herself up to Annette’s help. Now, each morning, Annette would help her dress, and brush out her long hair. There were no more floods on bath days either. Though Phaedra felt incredibly awkward having someone see her naked body when she couldn’t see or hear anything at all, she trusted Annette. Still, it took them both months to finally be comfortable with Annette – and eventually Genevieve too – actually scrubbing at her more private areas.

Without two of her senses, her skin became more sensitive to touch, and her nose to smells. Certainly, the first time Annette had scrubbed at her breasts, Phaedra had gotten soft tingles down her spine. Since the curse, Phaedra hadn’t had the energy to bring herself relief. Though Annette didn’t bring it up, Genevieve certainly did. And Phaedra liked their playful banter. She also appreciated that Genevieve would even bother to have it with her, though she never mentioned it.

The months passed, and so too did the years. And though it got easier, Phaedra never quite got used to it. She hated being helpless, and hated going into the marketplace with Annette. Even deaf and blind, she wasn’t oblivious to the looks, and hushed whispers. She knew from the way Annette tensed beside her, and the way Genevieve’s nails cut into her arm.

She hadn’t gone down into the basement since those blissful three days. That man had taken more than just her sight, hearing, and voice. He’d taken her independence, and freedom, and simple pleasures in life. Unable to make use of her extensive library, she couldn’t even bear to enter the room, smelling the beautiful old books. Her yard must have looked a sight, but she just didn’t care. Her plants needed special care, and no one else could do it like she did. It wasn’t fair.

Then, one frigid night, nearly three years since the curse had been placed, the man came to offer a deal. He appeared in Genevieve and Annette’s bedroom, startling both women awake. Not recognizing him, they scrambled out of the bed. Genevieve grabbed the fire poker, and Annette reached for a dagger in her nightstand. But the man just laughed coldly, demanding to see the lady of the house.

“You’re looking at her,” Annette said, stepping in front of her wife. There was no way she was going to let this bastard anywhere near either of her women. But the man knew she was here. And he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Reaching out, he squeezed his hand, magically constricting Genevieve’s throat. She sank to the floor, gasping.

Quickly, Annette led him to the last room in the hall. She shook Phaedra awake, trembling. Phaedra sat up, clutching at Annette’s arm in confusion. Then, she smelled him. And she would recognize that stench anywhere. Shrinking back slightly, she nevertheless conjured a fireball.

“You can tell your little mistress that I have a deal to make,” he said, eying the fireball warily. Annette relayed the message, nervously tapping her foot against the mattress. “While the bitch has adjusted admirably, it’s gotten rather boring. So, I propose a little deal. A way to break my curse. If the bitch can find someone to truly love her in this wretched state for an entire year, living in this decrepit house all the while, then the curse will break. But if she does not within ten years’ time, the bitch never be whole again.”

And Annette carefully relayed his words, taking time to repeat it verbatim. As Phaedra felt the message, she had a lingering suspicion that she had no choice in this deal. And the man knew he had her between a rock and a hard place. Phaedra hated it. True love. What a ridiculous concept. And of course, it had to be romantic love, not simply the love she held for Annette and Genevieve.

“Ten years,” he reminded, on his way out. “But should you have someone in the middle of their year by the time your limit is up, I will allow it. I’m a generous man, after all. One year, including a consummation of your “love”. Good night, witch.”

Annette waited until the door slammed shut before tracing what he had said. Phaedra buried her head between her knees. After being cursed, Phaedra never thought she’d have any sort of romantic relationship. The thought of opening herself up to that when she just couldn’t see or hear, well that terrified her. And the thought of any woman ever being able to love her was completely preposterous. She had barely been a decent person when able, now handicapped, even fewer could put up with her. Annette and Genevieve did, but in the beginning the only reason was because she paid Annette.

Genevieve climbed onto the bed, gathering Phaedra into her arms. She looked helplessly at her wife, as the smaller woman let herself cry. It wasn’t fair. Nothing ever was.

Ten years was a long time, but not when it came to falling in love. And especially not for a woman like Phaedra. But for a time, there were a handful of women. Genevieve, insisting that Phaedra had to get out if she was ever going to meet anyone, began scouting for potential women. Annette began forcing Phaedra to accompany her into town more. If Phaedra hated public interactions before, she really hated them now. But knowing the consequences, Phaedra did have to try. So, she went.

The first woman Genevieve set her up with seemed nice. She had lived in the little village all her life. But she was so young. Nearly eight years younger than Phaedra herself. She was practically a child, honestly. But Bette was friendly, and patient, and didn’t mind spelling out her words for Phaedra.

It took a while before Phaedra trusted her enough to allow Bette to lead her around town. Phaedra sensed that the young woman was chatty in her life, and was beginning to feel frustrated at the lack of communication. But she liked Bette. So, Phaedra tried harder. Though she didn’t have words, she began bringing Beth pretty flowers from her overgrown front garden. And Bette seemed to love them. Each time, the young woman would stroke the back of her hand, and give her a light peck on the cheek.

But Bette was so very young. And soon enough, Phaedra sensed her interest waning. Her patience as Phaedra spelled out her thoughts became strained, and her pecks far and few between. Phaedra knew it was time to let Bette go. And two months after they’d begun this courtship, Phaedra knew for sure. It wasn’t until she suddenly felt something brush her leg that she knew. The flower, the pretty – so Annette told her – rose she’d given to Bette. She’d thrown it away.

“How long?” Phaedra traced out. Bette only traced back an apology, gently kissing Phaedra’s cheek one last time. Phaedra sighed, patting the back of Bette’s hand. She understood, but it didn’t hurt any less. She had liked the young woman. But she didn’t love her. And Bette couldn’t have ever loved her back.

After Bette, Phaedra turned down Genevieve’s next three suggestions. There was time yet, and she needed some to recover. Unable to communicate, she hadn’t been enough for the young woman. Phaedra wasn’t sure she’d ever be. Half a year had passed since the deal was made. And Phaedra was no less terrified than before.

But she had to get back up on the horse sometime, even if her riding days of actual horses were long over. Already, a full year had flown by. The next woman was an accident. A ruckus at the market caused Phaedra and Annette to get separated. Suddenly, alone and unsure, Phaedra tried to make her way through the rushing crowd. But it was no use, and the small woman was harshly shoved aside. Trembling, she tried catching someone, hoping they could help her, but the few people she did manage to snag only pulled away once more. Then, someone harshly shoved her and Phaedra spilled onto the ground.

Immediately, she drew her limbs in, trying to keep from being trampled. Then, she felt soft hands pulling her up and away. It wasn’t Annette. Annette would have tapped her forearm three times. And the woman, for Phaedra knew it was a woman at least, was stronger than Annette. Unable to do much more than be pulled along for the ride, Phaedra tried to keep up.

Finally, out of danger, the woman stopped. Phaedra could only assume she was speaking to her, but obviously couldn’t. Phaedra shook her head, tapping the woman’s arm. Then, she tapped her throat, then her ears, then her eyelid. She then took the woman’s hand, spelling out her thanks. And to her surprise, the woman took the time to trace out that it was no trouble at all. Phaedra smiled slightly, still entirely too anxious.

“I am Marilyn,” the woman traced. “Who are you?” And Phaedra, with some hesitation, traced to her.

By the time Annette was able to locate her, the two women had settled themselves on the steps of the town hall. They were tentatively tracing back and forth. Annette stopped just in front, watching for a moment. The woman Phaedra was with, Marilyn, was pretty enough, and seemed like a nice woman. Phaedra seemed perplexed that anyone would expend the effort to trace to her, but here this woman was.

Marilyn spotted her staring, and furrowing her brow, took Phaedra’s palm. Phaedra turned, more out of instinct. Uncertainly, she beckoned Annette closer.

“Hey, I’m Annette,” she said, tapping Phaedra’s arm even as she didn’t take her eyes off of the woman.

“Annette is my caretaker,” Phaedra traced. Marilyn smiled at her. And Annette felt hope that this woman could break the curse. And soon, Marilyn was regularly taking strolls with Phaedra around town. She seemed far more attentive than Bette. She wasn’t as young either. Good. That was good. And she didn’t let Phaedra be the only one who made the effort in their relationship either.

Marilyn took Phaedra to her favorite spot in the meadow on the other side of town. Phaedra couldn’t see or hear it, but she could feel the soft grass beneath her feet, and feel the pleasant breeze across her face, tangling in her hair. It was wonderful. Phaedra almost kissed her that day. Almost.

Soon, Phaedra asked Marilyn to move in, leaning in to softly kiss her. They’d been seeing each other for some time, and Phaedra thought they were ready. But to her surprise, Marilyn pulled away, dropping Phaedra’s hand entirely. Uncertainly, Phaedra reached out. But Marilyn stormed out, shouting things Phaedra certainly couldn’t hear. But she felt the heavy door to her house slam shut. Confused and more than a little humiliated, Phaedra looked around helplessly.

Annette stood at the foot of the stairs, having heard everything. And it broke her heart. Marilyn, as it turns out, hadn’t thought of their relationship as anything more than a friendship. She didn’t realize that all of Phaedra’s rare smiles had been flirtations. Flirtations she thought were for her girlfriend. And to add insult to injury, Marilyn had shouted that she hadn’t even cared for Phaedra. Not really. She had just pitied the deafblind woman, and was disgusted by the thought of ever dating her.

Annette wasn’t sure she should ever let Phaedra know what Marilyn had shouted. There was no reason she should have to feel those words upon her palm. But Phaedra would demand an explanation. Would know she was hiding something. So, with tears in her eyes, she sat down next to the confused woman, and began.

Phaedra sat frozen, not moving so much as a muscle. Finally, when Annette finished, she pulled away. Nodding, she didn’t reach for Annette’s hand. There was nothing to say about that. What was done was done.

Phaedra moved to her bedroom, digging her short nails into her forearm. She didn’t care. She didn’t. If Marilyn truly thought those things about her, she wanted nothing to do with that sort of person. But it just figured. Of course, no one could ever want to be with her, or even genuinely care for their friendship. She would have gladly remained Marilyn’s friend even if Marilyn wanted nothing to do with a romantic relationship. Even Bette still came around once in a blue moon.

With a silent sob, she flung the nearest item at the wall. It wasn’t the same if she couldn’t see or hear the damage. And now there would be glass everywhere. Wonderful. And, unwilling to let Annette see her like this, she crouched down to pick up the pieces. The sharp cuts to her palms didn’t bother her. Not after today.

But eventually, Annette came up to investigate. No longer did the sight of Phaedra bleeding among a pile of broken glass faze her. Sighing, she pulled the woman back. Then, she went to fetch a broom. It wouldn’t do to try to reason with the witch tonight. Instead, Annette did what she was supposed to do. She cleaned the glass, washed out Phaedra’s cuts, and applied the salve. Then, she helped Phaedra undress for bed.

That night, she and Genevieve sat up talking well after the moon had reached its peak. Both of them had simply assumed Marilyn knew. They’d seen their interactions, and it looked very much like dating to both women. But evidently not. But Marilyn’s actions as a friend still didn’t explain why she had said it was just pity. It made no sense whatsoever. But Marilyn was in the past now. Right now, they had to be there for Phaedra.

The next day, Phaedra asked to be taken out to the meadow. And though neither woman was completely in favor of the trip, they helped her into the carriage, and took her.

Phaedra stepped out, feeling the soft earth, and reveling in the breeze. Then, she shot a fireball into the distance. Annette gasped, grabbing her wrist before she could let off another. But Genevieve just watched as smoke billowed up. Savagely, the thought that it was what that bitch of a woman deserved. Her memories of this place should go up in flames. Eventually, after Phaedra was satisfied, she waved her hand, and the flames receded into nothingness. But a distinct singed smell remained. The meadow would never be the same.

It took nearly six months for Phaedra to try again. Angry and resentful, she shut herself in the house, refusing to even go to the market anymore. And Annette and Genevieve gave her the time she needed. There was no rush. Not when only just under two years had passed. Phaedra’s happiness meant more to them than forcing her into something too soon. And Phaedra _was_ happy. She realized that despite not being able bodied anymore, she was not broken. She was still the Lady Phaedra, and perhaps it had left her better off.

She had friends now. And Annette and Genevieve were more than she could have hoped for. She loved them. And that was enough for her. Finally though, Genevieve managed to get her out once more. She reasoned that while Phaedra certainly didn’t need love, if she had a chance, why not take it? That bastard didn’t think she could ever find anyone, but Phaedra had her, and she had Annette. What was to say she couldn’t find someone else?

“If I were not married and deeply in love,” Genevieve traced. “I’d marry you myself. You’re a wonderful woman.” Phaedra huffed. One of the few noises she still could make. But she would try again. There was nothing to lose, after all.

But the next several women she found were all either better suited to be acquaintances, or had differing opinions on political and social issues – because yes, even a reclusive witch like Phaedra had an opinion on these things – or were just not interested. But after several months of that, Phaedra thought she’d found someone worth it. They didn’t quite agree on everything, but the woman was willing to explain her reasoning, and didn’t fault Phaedra for seeing things differently.

And soon enough, Lyara moved in. She was everything the others weren’t. She was mature, attentive, and most of all, actually wanted to be with Phaedra. But this time, Phaedra was more cautious. She wouldn’t be hurt again. They took things slow, and the months crawled by. But it was enough for her.

Lyara began taking over some of Annette’s routine. She helped Phaedra dress each morning, and would be the one to accompany her into the market as Annette did the shopping. She didn’t do any housework, or cook, but she sheepishly explained that she’d be liable to burn the entire house down if she tried.

Annette didn’t mind cooking for one more. Phaedra ate like a bird anyway, so it wasn’t like she was making much more than before.

Lyara and Phaedra, though they spent more time than necessary kissing and cuddling on the couch, they hadn’t had sex. Every time Lyara had taken her to bed, Phaedra had frozen. Somehow, despite how much Phaedra cared for her, she just wasn’t ready. And Lyara always understood.

But as the months rolled by, Phaedra began to get uneasy. Then, when Lyara and her were having lunch in town, she knew why. Seated across from Lyara, Phaedra sat calmly with Lyara slowly tracing nonsensically circles on her palm.

“Won’t your girlfriend be angry?” a woman asked Lyara, gently nipping at her lips. But Lyara shook her head. Phaedra, she said, was just someone. She liked her, and would stay with her the year to break her curse, but Lyara wasn’t in it for the long haul. The woman sighed, feeling slightly guilty, but when Lyara kissed her like that…

Across the table, Phaedra sat obliviously. But something wasn’t right. It was the way Lyara was leaning away slightly, or the fact that she just wasn’t talking. And then, when Lyara pulled out her chair so they could leave, she kissed her. And Phaedra knew. Phaedra knew exactly how Lyara tasted, and it was not that. That was a taste entirely not Lyara.

That night, Phaedra knocked on Annette and Genevieve’s door. Then, she entered without waiting for a reply she’d never hear. If the door was unlocked, it was okay. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she confided that she believed Lyara was cheating.

“I know,” Annette traced back. “I saw her today. There was a woman sitting next to her. She didn’t even try to hide it.” And Phaedra wasn’t even angry. Just so very disappointed. Curling up on their bed, she rested her head against Annette’s shoulder. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair.

The next day, Lyara found a suitcase with her things waiting for her. Phaedra was nowhere in sight. Sighing, Lyara left, an apology ghosting her lips. But she didn’t mean it. Not really. Not for the cheating. Just that she couldn’t break the poor woman’s curse.

After that, they didn’t push Phaedra again. She was happier without any drama. The two women who lived with her and loved her for who she was, that was enough. For five more years it was enough.

But though Phaedra was unable to see, she knew what Annette and Genevieve had. She knew they spend nights cuddled together on the couch, sharing the same cup of tea. She knew they exchanged soft kisses, and touches unlike anything they’d ever given her. She knew they had someone to curl up with when the winter winds blew. And Phaedra wanted that too. But she refused to be hurt again. Her weakness would just have to go away as her sight did. She didn’t need that to survive either. She didn’t need anyone else.

Seven years in, a storm hit. The winds raged, and the rain beat down. Though Phaedra had long since repaired the roof, she wasn’t sure it would hold. But Annette and Genevieve were trapped in town in Genevieve’s shop. She was alone, and though the thunder roared overhead, she couldn’t hear a thing. Still, unused to being left alone, she couldn’t sleep. Carefully, she paced the floor of her room.

Outside, a woman raced through the torrential rains. Heart pounding, she dared not look back. Something was coming for her, though she knew not what. Shaking from the cold, only her own adrenaline and fear kept her moving. Through the dense fog, she could see a large shape in the distance. With one last burst of energy, she raced to it.

Pounding at the door, she looked frantically behind her. There, just beyond the gate. With a bloodcurdling scream that was soon lost to the wind, she tried the knob. Unlocked. Relief coursed through her veins, as she dove inside, slamming the door behind her. Then, she hurriedly turned the numerous locks.

Still shaking uncontrollably, she made it five steps before collapsing onto the wooden floor. Pain erupted at her side, and she knew without looking that she was badly injured. But she was just so tired. With a groan, she pulled herself forward, only to fall back. Too exhausted and hurting, the woman fainted away.

Upstairs, Phaedra tensed. Someone was in the house. Years back, she’d made sure to spell the house to alert her if anyone entered. After that bastard had broken in, she was taking no chances. Cautiously descending the steps, she lit a fireball in her hand. She was more afraid than she dared let on. Slowly, she made her way across the front room.

She tripped over her before anything else. A soundless cry escaped her lips, as Phaedra tumbled to the floor. Instantly, she recoiled. Nothing was supposed to be there. She knew exactly where every piece of furniture was supposed to be in this house, and Annette and Genevieve made sure nothing was ever where it wasn’t supposed to be. And the thing she’d tripped over had been soaked. It was also definitely movable.

Tentatively, she reached out, feeling sodden fabric, and a faintly breathing body. Immediately, she reached for the woman’s hair. Though soaked through, it felt nothing like Genevieve’s coarse curls, or even Annette’s thick locks. And it was longer, too. She ran her fingers over the woman’s icy face. For the soft skin, and full lips could only belong to a woman. She was unconscious, but still shivering violently.

Anxiously, Phaedra cast a diagnostic spell over her prone body, wincing as the spell told her of the woman’s abdominal wound, and many superficial scratches and bruises. And she was freezing. Soon, hypothermia would set in. Making up her mind that she would have to act quickly, Phaedra vanished the woman’s soaked clothing. Annette would have to lay them out by the fire later. Right now, Phaedra needed to get the woman dried and warmed.

Wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of blood, Phaedra summoned towels to her side. Though she felt guilty with having to manhandle this woman without her knowledge nor consent, it had to be done to keep her safe. And besides, Phaedra thought, it wasn’t as thought she could see any parts of the woman’s body that she usually kept hidden. Then, once Phaedra was satisfied she was no longer soaking, she wrapped strips of one of the towels around her midsection, and then wrapped the woman’s entire body in large and fluffy blankets.

With another fireball, she lit the fireplace, and levitated the woman over to the rug in front of it. Then, she descended down the stairs to the basement. She hadn’t brewed a potion in years, but the woman needed more help than her wordless magic could provide. She needed a blood replenishing potion, dittany, and at least three others. And luckily for her, they were all easily done.

The moment she’d finished, she hurried back up the stairs, more confident in her steps after so many years. The cold phials were pressed against her chest protectively.

Unsure if the woman had woken, she slowed her approach. But the woman hadn’t so much as stirred. Carefully unwrapping her, and tossing aside the bloodied linens, she got to work, pouring two of the potions directly over the wound. It hissed and sizzled, Phaedra knew, and after a beat, she applied the dittany, carefully sealing the wound. Then, she ran the salve over the woman’s body. Unsure exactly where the cuts were, she used most of the container on the woman’s limbs, and stomach. Hesitating, she ultimately steered clear of the woman’s more private areas, deciding that it would be unlikely for there to be any injuries there.

Just to be sure, however, she did cast another diagnostic spell. There _was_ a small scratch on the underside of her left breast, and Phaedra quickly swiped some of the salve onto it before pulling back.

Then, she carefully tipped a bit of the remaining potions down the woman’s mouth. When she was sure the woman wouldn’t choke, Phaedra finally relaxed. She’d done what she could. The woman would survive.

Then, putting a spell on her to alert Phaedra to when she woke, the witch, threw another clean blanket over her newly bandaged wounds, and retreated back, curling up on the sofa. Hours later, Phaedra jolted awake. It was the woman.

The woman blinked awake, panic flooding her body. She sat up, tightly gripping at the blanket. Beside her, the fire roared. Her eyes darted nervously around, finally landing on the woman curled up on the sofa. Beneath the blanket, the woman knew she was bare. Shivering slightly and feeling uneasy, she felt around her midsection to find a layer of bandages. The other woman slipped off the couch, cautiously approaching her.

“Who are you?” she demanded, more harshly than she intended. The woman didn’t answer, instead offering her hand insistently. The other woman didn’t take it, instead demanding answers. But the woman held out her hand, shaking it slightly. Then, when no move to take it was made, she tapped her eyes, then her ear, then her throat. And there was an understanding.

Hesitantly, the woman took the other’s hand.

“Phaedra,” the woman traced out. “Who are you, and why are you in my house?” It took a moment for the woman to answer, still figuring out what to do. Finally, she traced back haltingly. Her name was Pricilla, and she’d been caught in the storm. Something was coming for her, but – and at this she hesitated – but it was gone. Phaedra looked in her general direction thoughtfully.

“Thank you,” Pricilla traced, squeezing Phaedra’s hand slightly. “But how did you do this?” Phaedra smiled, and would have laughed if she could. Raising a hand, a small orb of swirling light appeared in her palm. The very palm she had traced her name in the Pricilla’s with. Pricilla gasped. She knew witches existed in the world, but this was the first time she’d ever seen one.

Hesitantly, Pricilla continued asking questions. Where she was, and where her clothes were the first among them. And Phaedra answered, then asked questions of her own. Why she’d been out in the storm. Where she’d come from. And strangely, Pricilla didn’t find this way of communication at all odd. It seemed far more personal. More…intimate. But Pricilla shook her head. This woman was beautiful and gracious, yes. But far too good for her.

They were so into their conversation that Pricilla didn’t – and Phaedra couldn’t – hear the carriage approaching. Then, the door opened and two women entered, chatting quietly. They stopped immediately when they saw Pricilla.

Suddenly aware she’d let her blanket drop to her lap when she realized Phaedra couldn’t see her, Pricilla yanked it back up to her chin, blushing.

Though the two women stared at her in surprise, they went to Phaedra first. When they’d entered, Phaedra had tilted her head, waiting for something. The first woman took her arm, tapping at her forearm three times. Then the other encircled her wrist with two fingers. Pricilla watched in confusion. But Phaedra seemed to understand, motioning for the three women to speak among themselves.

Phaedra didn’t like being excluded, but this situation called for a vocal explanation. So, Pricilla explained her story, still very conscious of her state of undress. Sensing her discomfort, the woman who called herself Annette went off to find her something. But they soon found out that Pricilla was taller than any of them, and they had no clothing that could fit. So, Annette scrubbed at the woman’s bloodied and soaked clothes before putting them in front of the fire to dry. Until then, Pricilla wrapped herself in the blanket, feeling absurd.

Pulling Phaedra aside, Genevieve wryly traced that perhaps it would be best for Pricilla to stay a bit. Just to ensure her injury healed properly, of course. Phaedra raised an eyebrow suspiciously. But Genevieve had seen the looks Phaedra had given the woman. She was smitten already. Phaedra huffed, reminding Genevieve that she’d given up on ever finding love. It just wasn’t in her cards. But Genevieve insisted, tracing that she’d seen Pricilla looking back. And that made Phaedra hesitate. Of course, it could be simply gratitude, or awe at a witch. Not attraction. But that stupid feeling of hope welled up inside her for the first time in years.

So, Pricilla stayed. And Phaedra acquainted herself with Pricilla’s essence. The curves of her face, and the texture of her hair. Even her height, though Phaedra had to stand on her toes to keep from stretching too much. That seemed to amuse the other women to no end, which Phaedra sensed, giving them a glare. Even blind Phaedra’s glared hadn’t lost a bit of their edge.

Still, even with the hope that Pricilla could possibly have feelings for her, Phaedra didn’t allow herself to feel. Not again, she had promised herself.

Unable to feel comfortable staying with nothing to contribute, Pricilla put herself to work. Even in spite of Phaedra’s insistence she was not to lift a finger, and Annette’s exasperated protests, Pricilla liked to feel useful. So, she tied back her red curls, and started fixing up the house. Though it was in far better condition now that Phaedra was less likely to bite Annette’s head off for bringing in maintenance workers. She still refused to let anyone even near her gardens, though.

Pricilla made her way through the unused rooms of the large house, throwing open dusty curtains and immediately taking a rag and broom to them. Room by room, she went, cleaning and singing to herself. Unused to another voice in the house, Annette and Genevieve nevertheless said nothing. It was nice.

It wasn’t long before Pricilla got her own signature. Two fingers stroking the length of Phaedra’s forearm. Pricilla didn’t let on how much she loved the witch’s soft skin, and Phaedra didn’t mention how it made her skin tingle in ways the others’ signatures could never accomplish. The other two women noticed, but for once kept their mouths shut. For once, they realized Phaedra had to do it on her own. And because she wasn’t trying with Pricilla, it worked out all the better.

Then, having finished the inside of the house, Pricilla turned to the gardens. Armed with a few tools she’d found in the nearly hidden shed, she braced herself. But, getting there just in time, Annette stopped her.

“Phaedra doesn’t let anyone touch her garden. They’re all magical plants, and need certain care. Best not to disturb them,” Pricilla frowned, but nodded all the same. Still, the state of the garden tugged at her until she finally went back to the library. While vigorously dusting, she’d seen a few well-worn books on magical plant care. And, gathering them all up, she retreated back into the garden.

Slowly, making sure to carefully note down everything she could, Pricilla went through each page, meticulously comparing the photos to the overgrown foliage. She needed to be absolutely sure what each plant was. The hours turned to days, and still Pricilla spent most of her time nearly hidden among the wild garden. Reading through those books, Pricilla almost had a hard time believing anyone could ever care for such a multitude of strange plants. But if she was careful…

The bloodroot only thrived when given exactly three drops of blood a day, and the wormwood needed hours of direct moonlight. And she wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t tried, but the marathala only did well if sang to.

Bit by bit, she removed the weeds, and trimmed the excess. Down among the dirt and worms, Pricilla felt at peace. Humming to the marathala, she made her way through the garden, mindful not to tame it completely. She let the vines continue to curve around the iron fence, and the ivy creep up the house. Sometimes, reading through the care of some of the more exotic plants, she wondered just how they’d survived alone all these years. Something must have been preserving them, frozen on the brink of death, until someone came along to nurse them back.

Some of the plants needed special potions to feed off of. Warily, Pricilla crept down to the basement one night, armed with a small torch. Not wanting to invade too much of Phaedra’s space, she quickly took what she needed, before fleeing back upstairs and into the garden.

At last, days later Pricilla stepped back, satisfied with her work. Then, she called to Annette and Genevieve. And when they saw what had been done, both women were rendered speechless. Blushing slightly under their gazes, Pricilla explained that she had carefully done her research. Nothing was out of place, and she had planned a careful routine for each.

“Do you…do you think Phaedra will like it?” Pricilla asked, suddenly unsure. But there was only one way to find out. And so, Pricilla bit the bullet.

She led the witch outside, tracing that she had planned a small surprise. Phaedra followed only slightly reluctantly. She hadn’t gone out into the garden in years, not wanting to know what had happened to it. But when her bare feet only felt soft dirt, and carefully trimmed grass, she stopped. Pulling back her hand, she tensed. Pricilla _knew_ she wasn’t supposed to bring anyone to fix up the garden.

Quickly, Pricilla took her hand, leading her further. Then, sitting them both down on a small bench she’d uncovered, she placed one of the books in Phaedra’s lap. She had, she traced, done it all herself, and had done ample research. To prove it, Pricilla brought Phaedra’s hand to one of the closer flowers.

“Middlemist,” she traced. “You have one of the rarest flowers in the world. How?” Phaedra traced her fingertips over the flower as delicately as she could. She inhaled the beautiful fragrances of the garden, smiling in delight. She couldn’t see a thing, yes, but this was enough.

Unable to keep her hand from shaking long enough to form a sentence, Phaedra gave up, turning to Pricilla. Mouthing her thanks, she brought Pricilla’s hand to her lips, gently kissing it. Pricilla gasped quietly, flushing. Then, Phaedra tapped Pricilla’s soft lips before tapping her own. A question. Barely able to trace her answer, Pricilla finally managed a resounding yes. And Phaedra leaned forward, pulling the taller woman closer.

Phaedra inhaled sharply, their lips meeting at last. The kiss was so much more than any other. She could sense Pricilla’s racing pulse at her fingertips, and feel the soft vibrations at her throat as Pricilla moaned in approval.

Wanting more, Phaedra pulled at her skirt and tucked her legs under her, allowing her more leverage. Pricilla gently tugged Phaedra onto her lap, tangling one hand in her long hair. She did not let go of the other, making sure Phaedra could speak if need be. The witch pressed closer, cupping Pricilla’s face in her small hand. She never wanted to move from this spot ever again.

Eventually though, the need for air became too much, and Phaedra pulled back. She could feel Pricilla’s soft breath, panting for air. With a soft laugh, Pricilla plucked a violet from a nearby plant and tucked it behind Phaedra’s ear.

“Violet,” she traced. “You look beautiful.” Phaedra huffed in protest, but she was smiling. Slowly, reluctantly, she slid from Pricilla’s lap, gently tugging her up.

“Show me the garden,” she traced. And Pricilla did. She took her through, helping her to memorize where each plant was. Phaedra cast her spells when the plants required a bit of magical care, and Pricilla kept them all well-watered and weeded. And while Pricilla watched the flowers bloom, and Phaedra felt them, Annette and Genevieve watched and felt their love bloom.

And neither woman dared to interfere. Not anymore. Not when one false move could disrupt everything. No, better to let this happen organically.

And it did. The two women spent their days together, sometimes in the garden, sometimes wandering the forest. In all her years under the curse, Phaedra had never taken anyone out into the forest. But now, knowing she had the plants for it, and with Pricilla’s offer to help in any way she could, Phaedra firmly promised herself to start up her brewing once more. She’d missed it so much.

Holding Phaedra tightly to her side, Pricilla kept them away from wayward roots, and slopped hills. It was dark, but the glowing orb in Phaedra’s palm illuminated the forest floors. It was beautiful like this. Since that night, Pricilla had assumed she’d never want to venture into the woods again. But with Phaedra at her side, she felt safe.

Together, they gathered the special plants, Phaedra careful not to take too many. It wouldn’t do to ruin the forest’s ecosystem with her greed, after all.

“Is the forest the thing you miss most?” Pricilla asked, when they were back inside and were cleaning the plants for storage. Phaedra shook her head, letting the question sit as she carefully counted down the line of containers for the proper one.

It wasn’t until the morning, after a long night’s sleep, that Phaedra finally answered. Reading, she traced, was the thing she missed most. Books, and stories. In her youth, she’d loved spending her days shut up in her library just pouring over all sorts of books. That, she admitted, had been the hardest thing to give up. More so than her independence, or her pride.

And, making up her mind to change that, Pricilla got up and selected a book from the shelf. It looked well loved, which encouraged her.

“Would you let me read to you?” she traced, hesitantly. Phaedra raised an eyebrow. That would take far too long, and Pricilla knew it. But Pricilla stubbornly opened the book and settled in. Taking Phaedra’s hand, she began slowly tracing the words.

_Once upon a time, there lived a lonely queen…_

Just as Phaedra had expected, it was a slow process. Hours later, they’d just managed to get through the first chapter before they had to stop. Phaedra’s overly sensitive palm almost itched after Pricilla’s continuous tracings. Marking the page, Pricilla put the book down, pulling Phaedra closer to her. Tracing her gratitude, Phaedra curled herself closer, closing her eyes.

Once having been a quick reader, this slow pace irritated Phaedra to no end, and several days into it, she felt like throwing the book across the room and incinerating it. But Pricilla was being so wonderful that she just couldn’t bear to do it. But Pricilla sensed her frustration.

The next day, Pricilla headed off to the market to help Annette. Slipping away, she quickly entered the small bookstore.

“I need any books you have on braille,” Pricilla demanded, lifting her chin at the storekeeper. He scratched his head, trying to recall what braille even was. He’d heard of it of course. Suddenly remembering, he went into the back room, emerging moments later with a dusty old book. At Pricilla’s commanding look, he hastily wiped the book clean and packaged it.

“Order all the braille books you can find for me,” she said, walking from the shop. The shopkeeper stared after her, but shrugged and went to his catalogue all the same.

Pricilla returned home and immediately went to find Phaedra. Showing her the book, she explained that braille was a type of lettering that one could feel with their fingertips. She’d be able to read by learning the braille alphabet. And though Phaedra was skeptical, she was good at memorizing things.

So, with a pitcher of lemonade by their side, the two women retreated into the library to begin learning this new alphabet. And, glancing around sheepishly, Pricilla quietly tied a small scrap of fabric around her eyes. If she was going to do this, she wanted it done right. They spent the rest of the day running their fingertips over the raised braille type. The dots became imbedded in their mind, the feeling of them on their fingertips muscle memory.

So enthralled were they that Pricilla didn’t hear Annette pass by, doubling back in confusion. Standing at the doorway to the library, she watched as the two women ran their fingers over a book, the taller of the two with a blindfold on. Smiling, Annette eventually retreated back to her bedroom where Genevieve was waiting.

“Why didn’t we think of braille?” she complained, as Genevieve slowly undid the buttons on her dress. Genevieve chuckled, pulling the other woman on top of her. Annette moaned, seemingly forgetting about their conversations.

“Can you be quiet? We’ve got a hearing woman in the house with us,” Genevieve whispered, trailing her fingertips over Annette’s collarbone. Annette shook her head, moaning as Genevieve pressed her thigh between her legs. Genevieve knew damn well she couldn’t do quiet to save her life. She just hoped Pricilla would be far enough away to not be able to hear it.

That night, Pricilla practically floated to her room. She just couldn’t wait until the books arrived and Phaedra could finally read once more. And a week later, when they’d sufficiently memorized the braille alphabet, the books came in.

The months went by, and the two women became nearly inseparable. More than once, one of the other women had caught them necking under the shade of the cherry tree out front, or kissing against the library shelves. The times when Pricilla noticed their audience she’d been thoroughly mortified, but assumed it was a small price to pay for the time she’d wandered in the kitchen to find Annette completely nude with Genevieve between her legs. She was just glad they hadn’t been near any of the knives because as soon as Pricilla had seen then, Annette had thrown the nearest thing at her. Laughing, she dodged the salad bowl, and retreated back to her room.

Of course, seeing her housemates in such a situation had been…stimulating to say the least. But though she and Phaedra had done much kissing in the past several months, they’d yet to do anything else. And certainly, Pricilla had considered the notion that they’d never do anything at all, and that was okay.

Then, during one of their heated kissing sessions atop Phaedra’s bed, the witch’s hand had slipped, gently cradling the other woman’s breast. Pricilla gasped, arching up into her touch. Phaedra could feel her pulse racing. Anxiously, Phaedra pulled back slightly. She hadn’t…well it had been years since she’d ever wanted to.

Gently, Pricilla took her hand, tracing that they didn’t have to do anything. Now, or ever really. She just loved being with Phaedra. Phaedra exhaled shakily. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. Quite the opposite really. But she was terrified of doing something wrong, or leaving herself that open or…but Phaedra shoved that aside. She wanted Pricilla. She wanted her desperately.

“Let me know if I do something wrong,” she traced out, before tentatively reaching for the buttons on Pricilla’s dress. Between the two of them, they managed to get it off of her without ripping the fabric – something Genevieve would no doubt be grateful for. Even though she knew Phaedra couldn’t see her – and that she’d been in far less before – Pricilla blushed as she laid back against the pillows in nothing but her undergarments. Reaching around, Phaedra easily unhooked her bra, tossing it behind her. Then, Pricilla lifted her hips and soon she was completely naked.

Breathing heavily, she pulled Phaedra closer. Phaedra took her hand, asking for permission to see. Pricilla nodded, tracing out a firm yes. She shuddered as Phaedra took her time, running her hands down Pricilla’s waiting body. Down her neck, over her sensitive collarbone, across her shoulders. Pricilla squirmed gasping as Phaedra cupped her breasts tenderly. She lifted them slightly, weighing them in her palms, before brushing her fingertips over her hardened nipples.

Pricilla whined, knowing Phaedra couldn’t hear her. Before, with other partners she’d carefully concealed her sighs of pleasure, intent on remaining in control. But here, she didn’t care. Phaedra couldn’t see or hear her. She’d need physical cues to know what Pricilla needed, and well…it felt so wonderful to moan unrestrained.

Phaedra continued down, over her stomach, across her hipbones, coming to rest at her soft thighs. More needily than she would have liked, Pricilla spread her legs arching up ever so slightly. Phaedra’s lips curled into a smirk as she gently but firmly pressed the redhead’s hips down. Pricilla whimpered rather pitifully in her opinion, and quickly traced out a desperate plea. But Phaedra had always been a dominating lover, and just because it had been several years didn’t mean she wasn’t still. She shook her head, returning to Pricilla’s neck. This time, she used her mouth to see, sucking and nipping. And with the way Pricilla’s body jerked and writhed, she was still damn good.

Her mouth closed over a pointed nipple eliciting a low moan Phaedra would never be able to hear. But she felt it, low in the woman’s chest. And it was beautiful. Pricilla rolled her hips, whimpering. Desperately, she grasped Phaedra’s hand. She needed more.

“Please,” she traced, shakily, missing a few letters. But Phaedra understood. Trailing her tongue down, she finally settled between Pricilla’s legs. Pricilla’s breath caught as Phaedra finally, finally, pulled her closer. Pricilla keened, jerking up as Phaedra swirled her tongue across her swollen slit.

“Oh fuck!” Pricilla moaned, tangling her fingers in Phaedra’s hair. She sobbed, flinging her head back in pleasure. Nearly incoherent, she almost missed Phaedra’s words traced against her thigh.

Touch yourself. Gasping, Pricilla traced out a reply, before rolling her own nipple between her fingers. She was so close. Desperate pleas fell from her lips, and even more desperate pleas came from her cantering hips.

“Cum for me,” Phaedra traced on Pricilla’s slick thigh. And with a loud roar, she came.

Collapsing onto the bed, she lay boneless as Phaedra pressed gentle kisses to her soft thighs and stomach. Languidly sitting up, Pricilla reached for Phaedra’s dress. She took Phaedra’s hand in hers, asking for permission. Phaedra nodded, reaching back to undo the stays. Finally, they tossed Phaedra’s dress to the floor and made short work of the rest.

Squirming under Pricilla’s gaze, Phaedra tried not to be self-conscious. She’d never felt uncomfortable about her body before, so why was she so nervous now? Patiently, Pricilla tugged Phaedra’s arms away. Then, laying her back against the mattress, she slowly licked between her legs, over her hypersensitive clit. Phaedra bucked, inhaling sharply. She grasped onto Pricilla’s curls, holding her in place. And Pricilla was all too happy to oblige.

She sucked, and twisted, enjoying ever tremor and shocked twitch of Phaedra’s hips. After spending so long relying on her remains senses, Phaedra felt every flutter and flick of Pricilla’s tongue more acutely than she’d ever have been able to before. She didn’t know sex could be like this. Overcome with overwhelming pleasure, Phaedra could only wantonly writhe against Pricilla’s skillful tongue until she at last tensed, coming with a silent cry. If she had been in a more aware state of mind, she might have realized exactly what Pricilla had spelled out on her sensitive clit.

Crawling up, Pricilla gently curled up next to the panting woman, taking her hand and tracing soft praises into her skin. Phaedra smiled, snuggling into the warm body. She wanted nothing more than for them to fall asleep in each other’s arms for the rest of their days. Once, the thought would have petrified the witch, but now, it felt so very right.

“What do you look like?” Phaedra traced, almost as an afterthought. Pricilla hesitated, unsure what to say.

“I have green eyes,” she traced. “And I’m very pale with a few freckles across my body. My hair is dark red. I’m not nearly as beautiful as you are.” Phaedra rolled her eyes, drawing the woman in for a kiss. She highly doubted that assessment was even close to true.

And time moved on. The months turned into an entire year. One year exactly since Pricilla had collapsed on the floor of their house that fateful night. Phaedra, who no longer paid attention to the passing of time, didn’t notice. Pricilla, not remembering the date while being chased through the forest, didn’t either. Annette, nervously watching as nothing happened to Phaedra’s eyesight, hearing, or voice, did notice. So did Genevieve. But she just told her wife to be patient. They still had time.

And almost a month after the one-year mark, it happened. And just like that fateful night, the winds raged, and the thunder clapped. Comfortably wrapped in Pricilla’s arms, Phaedra remained blissfully unaware save for the slight tensing every now and then from her oh-so-brave girlfriend.

Then, just as she was drifting off to sleep, she heard it. The nearly deafening roar of thunder, and blinding flash of lightning. Her entire body jolted, as though she’d been shocked. She shrieked involuntarily, and that scared her more than any noise outside. Beside her, Pricilla sat bolt upright in shock. Reaching out, a smile ghosted her lips before quickly disappearing. Phaedra shook violently, tears pouring down her cheeks as she clapped her hands over her ears in a desperate attempt to shield them from the horrible sounds.

Distantly, she could hear two sets of feet hurrying to the room. Hearing a scream and knowing it wasn’t Pricilla, Annette and Genevieve had darted towards the other bedroom. And suddenly, everyone understood. Overstimulated, Phaedra curled in on herself.

As gently as she could, Pricilla gathered the small woman into her arms, and the four of them hurried downstairs into the basement where the noises and light were almost nonexistent. Phaedra felt sick. She could hear every breath, every creak. Worse than anything she’d ever experienced, the few noises and lights there were felt like knife wounds to her head.

No one spoke. Pricilla gently stroked Phaedra’s hair, tears prickling her eyes. The curse had been broken, yes, but at what cost? Phaedra desperately clung to her, just wanting to return to her dark and silent world. It had been better. _She_ had been better. Phaedra hadn’t thought of her life as a curse in over a year. She loved the silence, and darkness, and constant different way of communicating. This, this bombardment of noises, and sights. She hated it.

But gradually, the storm receded, until the only sounds were their own breaths. Slowly, Phaedra lifted her head, slowly laying her eyes on Pricilla and Genevieve for the first time. Pricilla blushed, suddenly terrified that she wasn’t good enough, or that she wouldn’t meet Phaedra’s expectations. She anxiously brushed her hair behind her ear, looking down shyly. But Phaedra cupped her face, drawing it back up.

“Beautiful,” she traced, then saying aloud in a voice she no longer recognized as her own. “Please…please take it away again.”

“I’m sorry,” Pricilla said, hugging her tightly. “I’m so sorry.” Over Phaedra’s shoulder, the other women exchanged worried looks. They’d all hoped to break this curse. But they never wanted this.

Sucking in desperate breaths, Phaedra suddenly stood, darting to her bookshelves. Scanning the dusty pages, she found what she needed.

“Take it away, take it away,” she muttered, hurriedly gathering the ingredients. Annette immediately went to her, pulling her back.

“Please,” Phaedra said, voice breaking. “I can’t…I don’t _want_ this!” Annette shook her head. Taking Phaedra’s hand, she slowly led her back to the floor.

“Phaedra,” Pricilla murmured. “Please. Just wait. Give it time.” But Phaedra shook her head, wanting nothing more than to plug her ears and cut out her eyes. But Pricilla had an idea. Taking Phaedra’s hand and slowly running two fingers down her forearm again and again, she explained it in hushed tones. Phaedra could give it time – two weeks maybe – and if she still felt this way, Pricilla would help her in whatever potion she wanted to brew. No matter what she chose, Pricilla would support and love her.

Phaedra nodded, stroking Pricilla’s arm. She was just so tired, and scared, and couldn’t breathe anymore.

The four women stayed in the basement all night, three of them cuddling the smallest and keeping her as safe as they could. And in the morning, when they emerged seeing the light, Phaedra nearly knocked them all down in an effort to retreat into the basement once more. But with a bit of coaxing, Pricilla managed to lead her into the garden. After all, she would need help cleaning up after the rain.

Feeling lightheaded in the harsh light, Phaedra kept to the shade, working as quickly as she could so she could just go back inside her dark and quiet basement.

The next two weeks were the hardest of her life. Even those first few days of being blind, deaf, and mute hadn’t been this bad. Now, she jumped at ever sound, retreating into herself to keep from going completely insane. Her dark and silent basement was never a heaven before, but now it was her only haven.

“You’re going back, aren’t you?” Pricilla traced on the final night. Phaedra nodded, her eyes apologizing desperately. But Pricilla understood. Phaedra was unhappy. No, more than that. She wasn’t herself anymore. She wasn’t the Phaedra they knew. She wasn’t even any Phaedra _Phaedra_ knew. And she hated it. She hated herself.

Tentatively, Phaedra held out the necessary potions. Pricilla nodded in understanding. Kissing her small girlfriend on the forehead, she uncapped the phials.

“I just want you to hear it from me at least once,” Pricilla whispered, taking Phaedra’s hand and tracing it as she spoke. “Phaedra, I love you.”

“I love you too, Pricilla,” Phaedra whispered, tipping back the potions. And it was the last thing she ever said again. Because even robbed of her senses, Phaedra had never been broken. She’d never been less than whole, or missing a part of herself. Being deafblind had brought out the best parts of her she’d never bothered to cultivate before. It brought her her best friends, Annette and Genevieve. And it brought her Pricilla. Once, she would never have been so accommodating for a strange woman running in the woods. But being blind had opened her eyes up more than sight ever could. Being deaf had forced her to listen to others in ways she never bothered to before.

The Lady Phaedra would never hear Genevieve’s smooth voice again, nor see Pricilla’s beautiful red hair. She would not be able to answer Annette’s teasing quickly, nor enjoy Pricilla’s unrestrained moans of pleasure. She’d never be able to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. But Phaedra didn’t need to. She had her books written in dots. She had her garden of magical flowers, and a woman to help her care for them. She had her potion books that Pricilla read to her, allowing her to restart up her business.

And she had cold nights snuggled up soundly to her wonderful woman. She had silence and darkness, and she’d never felt less lonely in her life. Not being able did not make her defective. She knew the world better like she was than she would ever if she could see or hear it. She could traverse the dangerous forest terrain without a single stumble, and she could wander her entire house without having to slow.

Phaedra was happy. She didn’t need any deals to let her know Pricilla was her true love. Even deaf and blind, it wasn’t hard to see. And as for the bastard who’d attacked her all those years ago, well, he was never seen nor heard from again.

There were so many unanswered questions in Phaedra’s life. But she didn’t care to know. She was happy, and loved, and whole. And in time, as Annette officiated their wedding, tracing the words on each of their palms, Phaedra didn’t have any wish to be able to say “I do” with her voice. Not when she could trace it on Pricilla’s pale skin.


End file.
